


Speaking from Experience

by Deadlynyghtshayde



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Control, Fluff, Gentle, Panic Attack, Sweet, could be platonic could be romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25399519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadlynyghtshayde/pseuds/Deadlynyghtshayde
Summary: Just a drabble, Loki was spending time in his quarters when a friend stopped by for a chat that turned south pretty fast. The story starts in the thick of it, with aspects of anxiety, depression and a panic attack. It's a gentle piece, mostly written for head clearing and comfort.
Relationships: loki & original female character
Kudos: 1





	Speaking from Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This was written during the pandemic (that's currently still happening), and was mostly written in the middle of an anxiety spiral when I had no one to talk to about what was going on. There's no mention of SH or the big S, so if those are triggers then you're good.  
> I basically wanted to write something that felt like the big hug I needed at the time, and tied in my own usual form of coping.  
> I hope you enjoy it, I might write a second part, I've been debating that since I initially wrote this.  
> If there's any confusion about whether their relationship is platonic, blossoming into romance or established romance, the answer is that I don't know. Every time I read it my conclusion is different. I didn't even know when I initially wrote it, it just ended.

She was crumpled on the floor in front of him, a knot of limbs pulled tight with anxious tension, fingers matting her hair in a wired grip. One of his hands, large compared to her small stature, rested on her shoulder; the other smoothing the lengths of her long hair that were free from her restless grip.  
The silence in the room was comforted by the lull of a storm outside, the gentle light cast by candles and the crackling fire in his hearth. Time passed slowly as he gazed down at her through soft, half lidded eyes, his own dark hair encircling his fine features akin to a length of fabric, falling below his shoulders. 

“I have no control.” She gasped out finally, after what could have been hours of intermittent rasping sobs, forced breathing and many stuttered attempts at speech early on. “There is so much going on in our world and beyond and I do all that I can, but I have no control. Over anything. Not the slightest bit.” She detangled herself carefully, knees dropping from beside her shoulders to the floor, legs fixing into a crossed form. Hands falling further down her long hair, however still gripped as though to continue the sensation. Possibly for grounding. Her eyes stared directly in front of her, at the bedspread below him.  
“I can’t even control what I eat – and I have no room to complain, there are so many who barely have the food to survive, and the Allfather feeds us more than I could ever – but it’s planned. It’s decided for us, I can’t even, I ca-c-” her breath caught as she stopped, counting backwards from three. “I can’t even decide what I wear. My clothing is made for me, my outfits prepared in advance.” Her hands knotted further, tugging harder. He was sure it must hurt by this stage, but that was possibly the point. Her gaze raised over the bedspread to his knees as he stroked her head gently, and from there she fixed him with an awful, hollow stare. “I must sound like a horrid spoiled brat.” Her tone was vacant, factual. 

He tilted his head consideringly, humming for a second. “No, what you are saying makes more sense than you likely realise. I, however, have an idea.” He leant further forward and chastely kissed the top of her head. “Will you let me explain?” He pulled himself back and unfolded his long legs, rising from the bed with a hand outstretched. She nodded, untangling herself and accepting his hand as she stood. 

He led her to the bathroom and stood her square in front of the mirror, squeezing her shoulders gently as he stopped behind her. She stared numbly at the reflection, gazing back puffy and washed out. Reaching around her he produced a richly bristled brush with delicate filigree decorating the tool. Running it through her matted hair he brought it back to the original pin straight, fine quality and it wafted down past her waist.  
She glanced at him through the mirror, though the feeling of his fingers fussing through her locks was soothing, it was acting as a cover and not a solution.  
Hesitantly she opened her mouth as he finished, “Loki, it’s not that I don’t-” He reached back around her, dropping the brush with a soft shushing. His hands came to rest on her upper arms again.  
“Close your eyes and hold your hands out in front of you.”  
Her silvery eyes met his in the mirror as she began to open her mouth again.  
“Do you trust me?” He prompted simply. She closed her mouth, then her eyes and raised her hands. Once again, she felt him reach around, and not long after a cool object with a little weight to it rested on her palms, his fingers brushing her as he released the item. “Take a look.”  
Hesitantly she opened her eyes and looked down. In her hands was a pair of crystal scissors glittering in the candlelight. She raised them, gazing through the transparent blades, entranced albeit curious.  
“Have at it.” He stated gently. Her eyes met his in the mirror again, confused.  
As an explanation he swept a hand through her hair and her eyes widened then snapped forwards as she stared at herself. A large grin formed, she grabbed a handful at the front of her head, raised it and, with the freeing sensation of all caution thrown to the wind, made a determined cut not far from her scalp. A deep breath coursed through her and she subconsciously stood taller. 

The basin in front of her was full of what had been her envied locks, not long ago she had acquired a razor, and now she was just staring at her reflection. Her hair fell a little below her eyes, it tapered shorter down the back and was sheered at the sides. She ran her fingers through it, pulling it this way and that, enjoying the new styles and the comfort in the knowledge that no maids would know how to fix it for her.

Loki having left her after the first cut to experience her freedom alone, had retired to his room and lounged with a book when her voice reached him. He stood, straightened himself, then walked in to see the joy and lack of burden radiating from her smiling face. He smiled back as he approached and reached a hand out to brush through her short locks.  
“Thank you!” her voice was light like the sweetest bells. “How did you know that this would help?”  
He stroked through her hair again and spoke softly with a gentle smile, “Control over one’s appearance can be the most grounding feeling. Speaking from experience.”


End file.
